The Exiles

he called over his shoulder as he left them.
    It was very difficult to explain to Graham exactly what they wanted him to do. ‘You never did!’ he kept repeating as they told him the story of the buried cooking things. It seemed he could not believe that anyone could be that stupid, and he could not help letting them see how much he admired Big Grandma’s resourcefulness. In the end, however, he consented to walk down to the beach with them, and ten minutes later was swaggering appallingly as the saucepan, frying pan, bucket and all its contents reappeared on the face of the earth. Phoebe, who had been very rude indeed about Graham’s abilities to help them, was so impressed she smiled at him.
    ‘Would you like to stay to dinner?’ asked Ruth, feeling it was the least she could do.
    ‘Had mine,’ said Graham. ‘Shouldn’t mind another one though,’ he added as his natural curiosity overcame his fear of poisoning.
    ‘We didn’t bring the matches,’ discovered Rachel.
    ‘I got some,’ said Graham, feeling more and more like a hero every minute, and by the time they had finished their bacon and potatoes he was so full of pride that he began to grow reckless. They had to flatter him into saying he wouldn’t mention anything more about the buried cooking things to Big Grandma, and it was long and difficult work.
    ‘I’ll be off now,’ he said eventually, ‘thank you very much.’
    ‘Thank you very much,’ replied Rachel, ‘you saved us from starving!’
    ‘Any time,’ said Graham modestly, ‘any time you want something doing.’
    ‘Could you lend us some books?’ asked Naomi suddenly. ‘Any old books would do, just something to read?’
    ‘Books?’ asked Graham startled. For a few seconds he could not imagine what they wanted books for; he himself had almost forgotten such dismal schoolday things existed. ‘What for?’ he asked, and then suddenly remembered listening to Mrs Sayers’s description of her grand-daughters. Too many books, he had been told, were one of the chief causes of the girls’ inability to behave like rational human beings. Mrs Sayers, he knew, intended to reform her grandchildren that summer.
    ‘Books to read,’ explained Naomi as patiently as she could.
    ‘Well,’ said Graham, unsure of what to do. After all, he didn’t want to reform anyone, he wanted to carry on being a hero. There they were, thinking he was marvellous, waiting for him to supply them with books. ‘Well, I’ll have to ask Mum. She’s a great one for reading. See you now.’
    ‘Very shifty,’ commented Ruth as he turned his gallant back on them and once again, almost ran away.
    ‘He didn’t want to be roped into carrying this lot back,’ said Naomi.

    ‘Three Reader’s Digests!’
    ‘Is that all he brought?’ said Naomi, picking weeds out of her row of radishes. ‘Didn’t he bring any proper books?’
    ‘He said his mum got them from the village jumble sale. He said they were all he could find. They’re dated 1966. They were left over.’
    Naomi thumbed through one with a grubby hand.
    ‘All the quizzes are filled in. I hate Reader’s Digests. They don’t even have a problem page.’
    ‘And no books coming from home either! Too heavy to post! They’ve got plenty of money.’
    ‘They’re spending it all. They’ll probably have even less by the time we go back.’
    ‘We ought to save these until we’re nearly going mad,’ said Ruth. ‘At least they’re better than cookery books and Shakespeare.’
    ‘I am nearly going mad,’ said Naomi. ‘Pass me another – this one’s useless.’
    Squatting in the radish row, and hunched on the stony path, Ruth and Naomi read their entire summer’s supply of literature in just under an hour. Then they went in for lunch.

    In the kitchen of the farmhouse nearest the sea, Graham’s mother asked, ‘And what do you think of Mrs Sayers’s four? Are they nice lasses?’
    Graham shuffled through his brain for a word to describe Ruth, Naomi, Rachel and Phoebe.
    ‘They’re funny,’ he said firmly.

Chapter Nine
    ‘Dear Everyone’, wrote Naomi.
    We got your postcards thank you, so this is a nice letter like you said. They are all saying, Naomi, write this for me if you are writing to Mum because they are all too busy (they say). Ruth says it is true that we cannot have read every one of Big Grandma’s books, but didn’t you know no one can read Shakespeare? We have read all the cookery books. Ruth says not to worry about